


Accordingly invited

by Sigart



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Harassment, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigart/pseuds/Sigart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No shirts, no shoes, no problem! There's a Party in Sweden's pants, and YOU are invited!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accordingly invited

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Party in Sweden's Pants](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15669) by NotKingProductions. 



> IMPORTANT! Youtube link in story is genuine ;)

The tall, imposing man was sitting quietly and quite docilely by his computer, working on finances for the new hospital bill his parliament had just agreed on, when his mobile phone suddenly rang. Not bothering to remove his eyes from the screen, he casually grabbed the device and answered with a gruff “h'lo.” He wasn't expecting any calls that day, but phone calls at all times of the day any day was hardly unusual.

 “Sweden!” a cheerful voice answered him. “Sweden, Sweden, Sweden~!” it continued, seemingly not realising that he was already listening.

 “It'ly,” he responded, when the other paused for breath, thinking some sort of acknowledgement might make the erratic kid (Italy was not technically a child, but it was difficult to think of him as anything else) actually tell him why he called.

 “Sweden,” Italy added one more time, just to be certain. “Am I invited too?”

 Sweden paused, wondering. Invited to what? “'Nvited t' what?”

 “Vee~. Il partito! The party! Sweden, am I, am I? Is there something else I could-e be invited to? Can I be invited there too?”

 The stoic man paused again. He had no idea what the frivolous nation was talking about. Tilting his head, he considered the appropriate response, however when no other response but to ask what Italy was talking about was forthcoming, that was what he decided to ask. Once he managed to interrupt the stream of words the Italian had engaged himself in while the Swede had been thinking.

 “...Or maybe I should-e wear the bunny ears, or what do you think-e? Would cat ears or bunny ears fit better? Or maybe I should-e go with the maid-e outfit, that-e might be fun! And I don't think I've worn it in pubblico yet..” the Italian continued obliviously, not realizing that his words had just short-circuited the brain of his listener. What the hell was he talking about?

 “It'ly,” he groused when the speed-talking fool finally seemed to stop to actually listen to what Sweden had to say (or take a breath, whichever). “I d'n't have a clu' what y're talk'ng 'bout.”

 “What I'm supposed to wear for il party, of course.”

 “What party?”

 “It's really mean-e if you're not inviting me to all-e your parties, Sweden.”

 The Scandinavian didn't need to see it to know the Southerner was pouting. It was audible. “It'ly, 'm not hav'ng a party.”

 “Che cosa?! But Sweden!”

 “I d'n't know where y' heard 't, but they lied.” Probably Denmark, that prick.

 “Sweden, if you're not inviting-e me to either of your parties, that's really mean and-e I'm telling Germany! Oh, Germany is coming too, just so you know. Ve~,” he finished, clearly already lost in a fantasy world of his own again.

 “Italy,” Sweden growled, enunciating each vowel as irritation grew in him. “I am not hold'ng any parties, I pr'mise. If I hold a party, I'd inv'te y'.”

 “Ma...! It sounded-e so cool!”

 “Wh't?”

 “Party in Sweden's pants-e! It sounded-e real fun!”

 That deserved a pause of sheer incredulity as Italy, once again, engaged in a monologue, this time about possible decorations, before Sweden dared voice a response. “Where'd y'... hear this?” Denmark. Of course, Denmark that bastard! Why did he even ask?

 “Ah, I got a youtube link.”

 “Y' g't a y'tube link?”

 “Si! It was a real funny way to invite us, I really liked it-e!”

 What was it with the Italian and the excessive use of exclamation marks? “Co'ld y'.. send me th' link?”

 “Si, but-e why should I do that? Didn't you make it-e?”

 “No, I'm 'fraid not.” Maybe if he seemed regretful, the Italian would leave him be.

 “Così, I'm sending-e it to you now. Tell me when-e it is, okay?” Click.

 Click? _Click_? Had the impertinent, little idiot just hung up on him? Apparently he had, since not a second later the clear tone indicating the lack of connection sounded. Sweden disconnected himself and put the phone down so he could check the link Italy had just sent him.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0r9EbW3b4bw Looked normal enough...

  _Ring_. _Ring_.

 Sweden automatically picked his phone up again, connecting it and pausing the video before it had even actually gotten a chance to start.

 “H'lo.”

 “Good evening, Sweden, this is England.”

 Sweden grunted. He wasn't being rude and England luckily knew him well enough not to be offended.

 “I would usually ask you how you're doing, but,” England paused dramatically, his voiced dripping with mirth in a way that made Sweden think he would probably not like what the Brit was hinting at. “You're obviously quite well.” Sweden grunted again, wondering despite himself what this was about. “I must say, old chap, that was quite daring.”

 “'Scuse me?”

 “Positively drastic, actually,” England gushed, chuckling a little. “Why, it reminds me a little of myself, back in the seventeenth century.” Sweden blinked, hoping he had not, somehow, unwarily walked into one of England's lectures about how he conquered the Earth or what a bad pirate he had been. It could be either and Sweden was just about as uninterested in listening to it now as he was in that finance report. “Well, that's neither here nor there,” England continued, thankfully skipping the dreaded topics. His voice, however, still carried that coating of amusement. “I was just calling to tell you that I would be most delighted to come.”

 Sweden's heart sank. Why did he think he knew what England was talking about? “Y'... w'ldn't happ'n t' be talk'ng 'bout that s'ppos'd party in m' pants, right?” That. Fucking. Dane. He was so dead.

 “Why, of course! I really must say, your invitation was quite daring. Oh, I already said that, didn't I?”

 “Y'ah,” the taller nation replied, massaging the bridge of his nose. “'M sorr'. There's been a m'stake. 'M not hav'ng a party.”

 “Oh.” England didn't sound all that surprised. Prick. “Well, do let me know if you change your mind, I wouldn't mind a little... pillaging.” Oh. Lord.

 “Ye'h,” Sweden answered, finding his forefinger against the bridge of his nose again.

 “Goodbye then. I wish you a pleasant evening!”

 ...Had that sounded ominous?

 Deciding that there was no good in worrying about it, Sweden unpaused the video on his screen.

 Three minutes after the video had ended, he was still staring dumbfounded at the screen. He then replayed the video, just to be sure that he had seen (and heard) right. Unfortunately he had.

 Death was no longer enough to punish Denmark. That bastard needed to be speared and slowly roasted over a low fire. Or maybe hung in a tree for crows and ravens to feed on. Better yet, speared and hung in a tree. It had been a long time since he had last done that to a Dane, he kind of missed it.

 He had barely reached the conclusion that not only should Denmark suffer through the so-called inner spearing, he needed to have every bone in his hands broken and kept from liquor for a week (and also, Sweden was never, ever coming to his parties again, if this was what the idiot did with the photos and videos he got there) when the phone rang again.

 “Swed'n,” he answered tensely, hoping it wasn't another acceptance to his “party”.

 “You should know better than to invite me to this stuff. Goodbye.”

 Sweden cringed. He and Finland had not been on best terms since the second world war (actually, their relationship had been kind of rocky already before that) but he had thought they were getting better. Apparently not good enough for an invitation to a party in Sweden's pants.

 Well, it did seem rather forward. If it had been serious. ...If it had come from him at all. Which it hadn't.

 He mentally added a broken nose and nipple piercings to the list of things Denmark would suffer through.

 His phone rang again.

 “H'llo.”

 “He-hello Sweden, it is Japan.”

 “Even'ng,” Sweden replied, trying to be polite.

 “I-I was just calling to let you know that... that I am unable to attend your p-p-party.” Which was Japanese for “Yikes, no way am I coming to a party in someone else's _pants_ ”.

 Sweden sighed. He could of course tell Japan that it was just a misunderstanding and that Denmark was playing a prank on him, but he honestly didn't feel like it when it wasn't necessary. Word would get to Japan eventually regardless. “'Kay.”

 “Uh, that was... that was all. Ah. Sorry. Goodbye.”

 Well, that was surprisingly quick, Japan was usually polite enough to ask how people were when he called them. Then again, so was England. Well, when he remembered that he was a gentleman. Maybe it was a slight exaggeration to say that England was polite enough to ask further.

 His phone rang again.

 With a sigh, the blond answered it (again). “Sverige,” he replied gruffly, deciding that it was too much of a bother to use English just to answer his phone.

 “Shvetsiya!” a familiar voice sang. “It's been a long time, da?” the heavily accented voice continued.

 “Indeed.”

 “I saw your invitation.” The other sounded sulky, a child denied his favourite toy. “Vhy did you invite everyone? Ve haven't seen each other for a long time, ve should have done somesing special.”

 “I'm not go'ng t' become one w'th y'.”

 “But Shveden,” he continued, a whine entering his voice. “I really vant you to. And you don't vant to disappoint me, da? People could get hurt,” he finished, as cheerful as ever.

 Sweden kept silent. Russia's threats didn't work on him and the other country ought to know it. Hell, he had raised the kid. Back in the day, a long, long time ago. So he simply waited until the other realised his folly.

 Which he did soon enough. “Vell. It vas vorth a try, at least. I'm still coming to the party.”

 “Ther's no party.”

 “Pardon?”

 “No. Party.” He hung up, too annoyed to bother with politeness.

 He had barely hung up when the phone rang again.

 “H'llo,” he positively growled into the receiver hoping that whoever was on the other end had the decency not to bother him about that damn bogus party.

 “Sweden, mon cher.”

 Oh. Great.

 “I 'ope I'm not interrupting anyzing of ze importance?”

 “No,” Sweden growled, hoping the Frenchman would take a hint.

 “Ah, magnifique. I call you because of zat party of yours. I would very much like to... come.” Sweden closed his eyes, praying for patience with France's ridiculous innuendos. “Ze video invitation, it is a very good idea. It is very sexy, very tempting, non? I like it very much.”

 Did he have some kind of point?

 “But I zink you should 'ave included some more nude photos, non? So we could see ze war-..” Sweden hung up before the idiot got a chance to finish. There was definitely a limit to how much he was willing to put up with.

 His damn phone rang again.

 With gritted teeth, Sweden answered it, not bothering with any sort of greeting. It better not be that damn sissy again.

 “Hello? Hello? Sweden?” Since it wasn't, Sweden dignified the inquiring voice with a grunt. “Great! You'll be so happy to hear that I, the great hero, will co-...” Sweden threw the phone into a wall. It made a dent before dropping to the floor in more pieces than it was supposed to be in.

 He stood there, not aware of when he had gotten to his feet, staring at the indent and thinking of every curse in any language he could think of when the doorbell rang.

 Stomping out the room and down the stairs, Sweden desperately fought to get his temper back under control. If it was just an innocent Swede, maybe a pizza delivery boy who had gotten the wrong address, they didn't deserve to bear the brunt of his tempter.

 The doorbell rang again and Sweden decided that whoever it was would probably survive anyway.

 Opening the door with exaggerated care, lest he break it apart (and humans tended to overreact so when he did that) it took him a few seconds to realize it was Denmark, standing on his doorstep.

 “You know, I know the invitation said to call you, but I've always been more of the gate crashing type.”

 Not bothering to listen, Sweden balled up his fist and planted it with all his might and weight into Denmark's jaw. Then he slammed the door close, only half regretting it when it resulted in a long crack down the middle and the hinges bending out of shape. He decided to bill the Dane for the repairs.

 - + -

 In his own home, curled up with a blanket on his couch, Norway snickered not so quietly, now there was no people around him. He only wished that he had some sort of surveillance on Sweden (and Denmark, once Sweden tracked him down), but his imagination worked well enough to imagine what would happen.

 Twirling the disc he had swiped from Denmark's computer, he idly wondered if there was any more fun he could get out of it. ...Well, there was some very entertaining feed of Finland, there, surely he could figure something out.

 Grinning, Norway quite uncharacteristically allowed himself to hum a happy tune as he began planning.

 THE END

 


End file.
